We
by lessxordinary
Summary: Mello rants about how much he hates Nia, and how much he loves him. We. There is no we. Rating mainly for Mello's... emphatic language. Implied MelloxNia


'We.

We were never meant to be. A silly, arbitrary notion.

You know it, Nia, and I know it.

There is no we, no us. No past, no present, no future.

Or, to put it in terms you could understand...

Gramatical tenses, equations, fucking logic.

I'm tired of it all.

I'm tired of us.

And I hate you.

I'm tired of being less than you.

Tired of keeping up with you.

I'm tired of being a shadow, of never seeing the sunlight that danced off your ridiculous white hair, your ugly, big eyes.

No. You aren't sunlight. L was sunlight, in his bright mind and brighter, rare smile. But you smile less... you can't be sunlight. You're more like the moon: The moon finds you, wraps you in her folds, like a fucking caterpillar in a cocoon of silver light, where I can't reach you. I can't destroy you because of that layer, that special something that makes you so horribly you.

So irresistibly you.

And... That's why I hate you. Because I can't hate you. Even though you have ruined my entire life, even though you have destroyed my mind, desecrated everything I held holy. Even though you make me want to scream and rage and burn and kill. I want to break everything around you, except you. The snug little insect in his cocoon. No, I can break down the walls around you. I can take away your friends, your family, your dreams, your colleagues. I could destroy your world, and you wouldn't be able to do a thing about it.

I've always had that power, despite what you think. Despite what L thought. You, neither of you, were ever in control of me. I am bigger and smarter and more remarkable in every way you could fucking imagine.

But I've never beaten you. Do you know why? Because I can't bring myself to do it. All the people I've killed, all the lives and hopes I've destroyed, and I cannot kill you. I can't bring myself to look you in the eye and tell you I've won.

How would you look? I can almost imagine the way you'd twist your hair around your finger, the perfect O your mouth would make as I told you. Revealed everything to you. But if I beat you, what then? What could I do then, Nia? You have been the only meaning I've ever had. Nothing else matters.

Once I win, I will have nothing.

So I continually lose, concede to your smugness, your security in yourself. And I hate and I rage and I destroy. But not you. Because I am like an atom bomb: A creature made of pure destruction. If you are the moon, a reflection of the sun, and L was the sun, in his brightness and purity, than I must be a shadow. I cannot exist without someone's light to contrast against. If all fades into darkness, then what will be left? No... If you were to fall, I would die.

You are protected by you. I, the destroyer, the plague that I am, cannot build nor create nor astound nor amaze. I can only shock and disturb and dement. It's true, though. I'm demented, am I not? No... I can't be going insane. That would be too sweet... If I were insane, I could destroy you. But you see... Even if I were to attack you, my devastation would only reach around you.

There you would stand in the middle of a killing field. Your buildings incinerated, the bodies of your coworkers obliterated in the massive blast of my ego and my own predatory instinct. And I would look at you. Just look. A piece of my annoying blonde hair would blow into my face, but I would ignore it. Just looking at you. You would stand there, in your immaculate white pajamas, untouched by the perversion all around you. Untouched by my fires and my bombs and my guns and my hatred. Standing, gleaming. An ironic icon amidst the death and havoc I bring.

Is that all I'm good for, in the end? Destroying and killing and burning? Yes, I forget... I'm your shadow, aren't I? Well I'm tired of it. Sick, sick. Like all those times you were sick back at Wammy House, only it's not a fever, and all the drugs in the world can't treat it. How do you cure a soul, a heart, a life? Not with medicine, not with therapy.

I can't take back what you've stolen from me.

But you know what? I can take something else from you. Something more, something far more important than your life, than your friends, than your dreams. The one thing that no one has ever, ever even known you have. That I know you have.

It's the one thing that makes me think, sometimes, that I don't hate you. Maybe I love you, somedays. Sometimes. Because I think that I own something of yours. Something that I won a long, long time ago. And it is a sweeter victory than your death or your destruction. Because I can live, and live with you in the world. And we can compete forever, and never destroy one another, and be boys forever like Peter Pan and Captain Hook.

You protect me, cannot destroy me, just as surely as I cannot destroy you. Because behind our shit-filled lies, behind the bullshit you feed me, all the crap I tell you. Behind our eyes, despite how fucked-up in the head I might be, or how naive and idiotic you can be, there is something besides hate. I hate you, but I don't. I want to kill you, but I don't. You feel the same way.

I've always had enough emotions for the two of us, right?

Well get this, fucker: I love you, and you love me.

I fucking own your heart.

And I need you desperately, because you own mine.


End file.
